Brains?
by Sull89
Summary: Pure, unadulterated crack. Zombie Maes wants revenge. As long as he can avoid being set on fire while he gets it.
1. Chapter 1

Dying?  
It was weird.  
Very weird.  
You could even call it strange.  
But coming back to life after I died?  
As a zombie?  
Yeah… that was even weirder.

--

Maes didn't know how he came back to life, or why, but it wasn't long before he realized that what he had come back to couldn't accurately be called life – it was more of a slobbering, revenge-laden blood fest that consisted mainly of him lumbering around Central at night and feeding on whatever small animals he came across.

While most of his higher mental facilities had vanished – the part that processed varied perspectives on the world and gave him the ability to be called a human – he did retain some of them. He couldn't bring himself to feed on humans, for example; he had tried the first night and met with disastrous consequences and the piercingly loud screams of the petite woman he had in his grip.

He had thought maybe he could get past that, eat her quickly enough and quell the screams, but when her husband came up behind him, doused him with lighter fluid and set him on fire, Maes decided maybe humans weren't the way to go.

It had taken him forever to get all the ashes out of his hair. Once he dropped the woman and retreated to a safe corner he spent the next three hours plucking gritty black piece of burnt clothing by gritty black piece of burnt clothing from his precious locks. Being set on fire didn't really bother him – it was startling, to be sure, but it didn't hurt. The flames were kind of nice, actually. Warmed his skin.

It was just those damn ashes … they stuck to everything and were impossible to get out. It was then he decided to set one of his first goals - avoid all ashes. Which, of course, meant no more forays into attempting to eat women who had husbands with lighter fluid and lighters; but since it was impossible for him to tell who might have been in possession of those materials, he had to give up the entire species.

But that was okay, actually, because he discovered rather quickly that cockroaches tasted pretty damn good. Especially the ones that had bits of mold or fungus on their feet, it added a nice tangy taste to the crunch of their shells.

A life filled with good food and free of ashes – it was pretty much all Maes could ask for. But then… then he remembered why he had died. Who it was that had killed him. And Maes realized that even if the puny homunculus was in possession of lighter fluid and a lighter, he would brave the horrible little pieces of burnt material to get his revenge.

After he feasted on a few more cockroach brains.


	2. Chapter 2

As unsurprising as it probably is, one of the best places to find cockroaches is in the sewers. And the grates that littered Central's streets to give access to these sewers were ridiculously easy to open; even with his moldy arms and easily broken fingers Maes could pry one of them up in under a minute. The living arrangements down there were perfect too – it was always dank and the air was filled with moisture. That meant there would be no fires and Maes was totally content with that; after all, the fewer ashes the better.

His feast of miniature cockroach brains really made him feel good. They were energizing and left a very pleasant taste in his mouth. It was reminiscent of a mint, almost. Searching while he feasted, Maes had eventually found a place in the sewers where the walls had crumbled away and someone had dug out a nice earthen den. There were even some funny human instruments littering the place; a hollow metal thing with a long bit of plastic sticking off it was the first thing he found.

Studying the strange contraption for a moment, Maes then promptly turned it over and placed his head in the gap, covering what was left of his hair. He smiled now, happy; he had cockroaches and a thing to protect his hair from the ashes that could attack him at any moment. It was perfect, really. Add his new little den into the equation and the fun he was very likely to have with the strange things in it and he was in zombie heaven.

… Or would that technically be hell? Either way, he was happy with it.

Sitting down in the far corner of the little burrow, Maes paused for a while to take stock of what his plans were and how he was going to execute them. Revenge… it sounded so sweet. He was a bit worried about one or two of his fingers snapping off in the process, but nothing sounded better than getting his hands around the stringy little throat of that ever-changing homunculus and throttling the life out of him.

Even though… there was something in the back of his mind made him feel as though it probably wouldn't be that easy, some tingling sense that the homunculus wouldn't die that easily. He stopped for a minute, trying to figure out why that was, but then suddenly a bright light hit his eyes, making him flinch and blink rapidly to clear the spots from his vision.

It was then that a harsh voice greeted him, angry sounding, "Hey asshole, that's my pot! Get your own – oh my god…"

The light and the voice… they were bad. They disrupted his concentration and the serenity of his quiet little hole. Maes did not like the light and the voice. Standing, he lumbered for the scrawny kid holding what seemed to be a lantern – fire, but it was contained so he could deal with it. Not to mention his new… what had the measly human called it? Pot. His new pot would protect his hair from the ashes. That was good. But the light, and the voice… they were not good. Maes would smash and smash until they went away.

"Holy shit!" Seeing Maes come up out of the darkness, chalky skin tinted green, mold growing all over it, bits of what looked like bug stuck between his teeth… it was way more than the now former owner of the den wanted to deal with. Turning around quickly, he dropped the lantern and fled, his bag dropping from his shoulder as he ran for his life, wanting to escape whatever this inhuman creature was.

Maes only chased him for a few feet. The voice had gone and the light had died, so he was pretty much content again. He could hear the faint clamor of feet as the guy got further and further away, but what interested him more was the delicious scent wafting from the ratty bag he had been carrying.

Strolling over to it Maes picked the burlap sack up and carried it back to his den, tearing at it until a hole formed in the side. Reaching in, he felt around for whatever it was that smelled so good, then gasped as a warm squishy thing met his fingers. Pulling it out eagerly he sniffed at it, smiling wider when he realized that, yes, that is where the sweet smell is coming from.

Sitting and smiling, Maes took the time to savor his first scone ever as he planned out Envy's murder in his head, humming a snatch of some random show tune he heard on one of his journeys to the surface.


End file.
